The bass from the party inside shakes the walls, but out here, it’s just the cold night air and the distant hum of the city. You sit on the porch steps, arms wrapped around yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks. Lip pushes the screen door open, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He spots you, hesitating for half a second before stepping closer.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. He flicks his lighter, the flame momentarily illuminating his face. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

You sniff, wiping your face quickly. “Trying not to think about him.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how weak you sound.

Lip exhales a stream of smoke, leans against the railing. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Not great.” You look up at him, eyes glistening. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Lip studies you, something unreadable in his expression. He doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do comforting. But he also doesn’t walk away. Instead, he nudges your knee with his sneaker. “Because you actually gave a damn.”

You shake your head. “And she’s—God, she’s so perfect. What does she have that I don’t?”

Lip scoffs. “Who cares?”

“I do,” you whisper.

He takes another drag, then crouches down in front of you. “You wanna know what I think?” He flicks his cigarette into the yard, then looks at you like he’s seeing something you don’t. “I think he’s an idiot.”

Your heart clenches. “Lip—”

The door swings open behind you. Laughter spills out, and then—his voice. Your ex’s voice.

Lip stiffens, his jaw tightening. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You meet his eyes, your pulse quickening.

Do you?